


to-morrow, at bright dawn, the world’s business will entangle us

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Gratuitous Descriptions of Architecture, Minor Original Character(s), Naboo Handmaidens, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Pre-Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Spas, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: After a major diplomatic conference, Padmé and her handmaidens get a break from the business of government and travel to a spa resort in the Naboo countryside.





	to-morrow, at bright dawn, the world’s business will entangle us

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Shore Leave zine.

The buzz of quiet conversation filled the small ballroom as guests in their diplomatic finery circulated atop the parquet wood floors. Brightly lit sconces shone cheerily along the edges of the room, illuminating both the murals decorating the walls and the attendees themselves. The annual Chommell sector conference on trade and infrastructure development had concluded earlier that afternoon, and the delegates were taking the opportunity to relax and casually schmooze in the elegant ambiance of the Nabooian manor house that had served as one of the conference venues before departing for their respective home planets the following morning. 

Tucked between a delicately carved statue and the drinks table, Padmé let the droning words of the Lofquarian delegation’s assistant undersecretary for trade flow over her, as her face settles into a perfectly crafted expression of polite attentiveness. The man went on and on about the evils of luxury goods tariffs, his ideas as unoriginal and out of date as his suit, but Padmé was only listening with one ear and a fraction of her focus to keep herself nodding at the correct points in the conversation. The rest of the room held far more critical information. 

Sabé stood on the far side, dressed in the guise of Amidala and flanked by Rabé and Saché and a pair of delightful flower arrangements on pedestals. Padmé almost cracked a smile at an importune moment in the undersecretary’s sales pitch as she worked out the digs and double meanings behind the blossoms. Someone on the decorating committee had a sense of humor.

A swath of brightly colored fabric, lace and feathers bundled up into an elaborate work of haberdashery and dripping down over the shoulder of the minister for finance from the Necr’ygor system flashed in the corner of Padmé’s eye. Carefully, still nodding at the undersecretary’s sophomoric foreign policy suggestions, Padmé let her eyes track the man across the room as she slowly took a sip of Daruvvian Champaign from the flute in her hand. The minister for finance made a beeline for Amidala, but, as Rabé shifted to position herself between Sabé and the approaching figure and Padmé was just about to interrupt the undersecretary, the minister for finance was himself intercepted by the Karlinian ambassador.

Padmé let out a long, slow exhale at the sight, the short, swarthy, elaborately dressed minister for finance facing off against the tall, severe ambassador, in her long, dark colored robes in the traditional Karlinian style. On a personal level, Padmé found neither of the pair particularly pleasant to deal with, between the minister’s condescension and greed and the ambassador’s arrogance and unwillingness to compromise. Politically, however, she would take a hundred hours of fruitless argument with the ambassador over five minutes with the minister from Necr’ygor. And with the information her intelligence sources have reported about the system, and the minister in particular—connections to the Trade Federation, first and foremost—she and her staff had been doing their utmost to avoid the Necr’ygorian delegation outside the conference's official meetings. Maybe she should send the ambassador a fruit basket. Anonymously, of course. 

Another sip of champagne and the undersecretary was still going strong. He’d moved on to exotic pet export restrictions. As useful as the conversation had been—as a cover and for determining exactly how stupid this particular representative of the diplomatic trade is, if not for gathering any useful information—it wouldn’t do for him (or anyone else) to think he’d gained a sympathetic ear in the Queen of Naboo’s inner circle. Before Padmé could begin to navigate herself away, however, a familiar hand found its way into the crook of her elbow, and she turned to see Eirtaé’s familiar profile stationed at her side.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Eirtaé said, the words addressed more to Padmé than the undersecretary she interrupted. “Our presence is required.”

Padmé nodded and made her apologies to the disgruntled undersecretary, and she and Eirtaé departed, the skirts of their robes swishing softly against one another as they wound their way through the crowd.

“What was that man going on about?” Eirtaé asked, her voice tinged with only the faintest whiff of mirth. It was echoed in her eyes but showed nowhere else in her expression, and if Padmé didn’t know her so well she wouldn’t know it was there.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she suggested, teasing back.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

The silent, well-concealed laughter echoes between them as they make their way towards Sabé, Rabé, and Saché, faint brushes of hands and elbows enough to finish the conversation without words. 

As Padmé and Eirtaé slid into formation behind Amidala Rabé raised an eyebrow at their antics, but otherwise said nothing.

Then the Jafan minister for culture approached and it was back down to business for them all.

* * *

The guest suite that the queen and her entourage were put up in was large, as is suitable for a party of six young women traveling with considerable luggage, and tastefully decorated in the gold-embellished, nature-inspired style that was in fashion two or three hundred years ago, when most of the estates in the lake country were constructed. Padmé lay on her side on the bed, flexing and stretching her feet to work out the cramps in her tired soles.

“That didn’t go as badly as I had expected,” Saché said, her hands slow and methodical as she worked a comb through Sabé’s hair, detangling the last vestiges of Amidala’s elaborate hairstyle.

“Hmmm,” Rabé agreed, “At least we managed to avoid the Necr’ygorian finance minister. He wants something from us, I can tell. And I don’t like it.” 

“He has creepy eyes,” said Yané, lying on her stomach across the foot of the second bed, already in her nightdress. “Like a dead fish. They look without seeing and yet you get the feeling that he knows more than he should.”

This earned her a laugh from the others. “Yes, that’s exactly right, like a dead fish,” said Sabé, a wide grin showing off her neat white teeth. She had only managed to remove half of the Amidala makeup, and the effect is far more alarming than cheerful, but the assembled handmaidens are used to such sights and pay it no mind.

“I’m worried about him,” Padmé said, as the laughter died down, “I want to talk to the Intelligence chiefs as soon as we get back to the capital, see if they have any more information on him, or on the other possible Necr’ygorian links to the Trade Federation.”

“Don’t worry too much,” said Yané as another cheeky grin flashed across her face, “You’ll have time enough to bury yourself in intelligence reports once we get back. But first we have a week of vacation, remember?”

At that the assembled handmaidens shifted to excitedly discussing their imminent leisure time—well, relatively leisurely, they still had their various bodyguard duties after all, but a vacation is still a vacation—Padmé let her mind wander, and hoped the upcoming week would be as relaxing as promised.

* * *

The Balbianello Health Resort and Spa loomed tall and graceful over the small town below, the sweeping arch of its roof and the strong lines of the support columns providing an elegant cap for the rolling hills on which it was built. Rows of tall windows reflect the bright glare of the morning sun as the royal cavalcade approaches up the curved driveway, neatly manicured gardens flanking either side. As the last of the so anonymous looking as to be incredibly conspicuous speeders drew to a halt, Padmé stepped out with a stretch of stiff muscles and a stifled yawn.

An early start—primarily to give the royal party additional security and anonymity on their outing, but also to avoid any last minute unwanted diplomatic engagements with lingering conference attendees—had allowed them to reach the resort before even the end of the usual breakfast service. The air was cold and clear and filled with the smell of something sweet and yeasted. Padmé’s stomach, served nothing more than a cup of caf before the drive, growled at the promise of hot food.

Sabé’s soft laugh brought Padmé’s attention back to the present. She turned to see the other girl had followed her out of the speeder and had turned to survey the view out over the town and forest below. “Hungry?” she asked.

Padmé nodded. “I want one of whatever it is I’m smelling.”

Sabé took a deep breath, letting the scent get deep into her lungs. “Hmmm, yes. Smells good. Shall we?” 

The pair made their way through the controlled chaos of bellhops and valets unloading their trunks and bags to meet up with the other four, who were driven in separate speeders. Yané, dressed distinctly—but far more subtly than usual—in the persona of Amidala took the lead, and the rest of them followed her up the steps and through the entrance of the hotel.

Inside, the lobby of the Balbianello Health Resort and Spa was enough to make even Padmé, who had spent so much of her life in the palaces and courts of the Naboo political scene, take note of its elegance.

It was not ostentatious, as such, but the high arched ceilings were trimmed with finely detailed moldings, reliefs of local flora etched delicately into the plaster and highlighted by the light of hand-blown glass sconces. The floor was tiled with marble Padmé recognized as indigenous to the neighboring district, and a highly prized and restricted resource. Heavy drapes framed the windows, the sunlight catching on sparkling flecks in the marble. 

A six-fold nod of regal appreciation greeted the valet who hurries forward to greet the party, offering his best professional ‘yes, absolutely, I most certainly know how to interact with planetary royalty’ expression as he offered to lead them to breakfast. Padmé smiled a bit as she caught his wide eyes lingering on Yané’s Amidala finery. Even for a resort as fine as this, and as popular with the elites both on and off world, the sight of the planet’s own leader must have been something of a shock.

Even after more than a year to get used to the position, Padmé was still unsure what to do with those sorts of awed reactions. Oh, she’d learned all the proper etiquette, of course, and knew all the polite responses and ways to nod and thank and wish well. But inside, somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach and in the dark of night, she didn’t quite know what to make of it. It was easier, in a way, to think about when someone else was wearing Amidala, and she could take her time to watch from the outside. To observe the way people straightened as Amidala and her handmaidens passed by, how they stopped talking, how they watched. 

It was not as if Padmé was unprepared for the reactions of the civilian populace towards the royal retinue, or that she resented it. But as someone who had grown up in the civil service system from the time she was a small child, her respect towards the position of the monarch—while of course deeply ingrained—was that of a subordinate towards a senior colleague, respect for knowledge, for experience, for a difficult job done well.

The star-struck awe of the valet underscored the vast gulf in experiences between the government and those they governed, and it remained splashed across his face as he seated the party in the breakfast room, before departing as quickly as decorum allowed. As they were not in private, none of the handmaidens allowed themselves the indignity of a chuckle, but in the informality of the setting several genuine smiles slipped past the practiced political facades. Even the brief humor of the situation, though, could not completely distract Padmé from the reminder of the seriousness of the task she had been entrusted with. That faith that the subjects of Naboo placed in her weighed heavily every day.

The room was, in fact, a solarium, the morning sunlight shining brightly through the walls of windows, a refreshing breeze blowing through the few propped open rustled the greenery that decorated the space. Settling back into the wicker chairs, the royal party could see the few other diners to have risen this early were the antisocial types and had taken no notice of the politically conspicuous arrivals. Or were at least polite enough to pretend so.

Formally dressed wait staff arrived promptly with the components of a traditional Nabooian breakfast spread, and the girls, suddenly even hungrier than they had thought themselves to be, tucked into the assortment of cheese and eggs and smoked fish, triangles of toast topped with jam, and still-steaming sweet currant buns broken open and slathered with butter, all washed down with pots of the house blend of fruit tea.

Cheerful and satisfied—even more so after the second helping of tea and fresh from the oven currant buns—the group set off on their mission of relaxation with all the zest and determination they usually applied to strategizing before diplomatic meetings or practicing hand-to-hand combat drills. Yané had acquired the resort’s standard informational packet advertising the array of amenities and services on offer, and now studiously read through the descriptions with Eirtaé leaning over her shoulder, nibbling on the last of the currant buns.

“Did you know they offer three different kinds of mud wraps at the spa here?” asked Yané.

“It’s a full-service spa, of course they’re going to have lots of amenities,” said Eirtaé as she nudged her arm to get her to turn the page, “But that’s not why people come here, they come for the baths.” She nodded as Yané finally flips to the next page. Even across the table, Padmé could see the images of high domed ceilings stretching high over clear blue pools adorning the brochure. “Geothermal. Nice and hot and full of minerals. Good for the health.”

A swift kick found its way to forcefully connect with Padmé’s shin. Padmé could tell that Eirtaé was also glaring pointedly at her, but she tactfully averted her own gaze over the other girl’s shoulder, so as to allow herself to pretend that the message had been intended for Sabé, sitting to her left.

Sabé, seeming, as always, to almost be able to read Padmé’s mind, interjected just then to subtly remind Eirtaé not to behave so casually with Amidala in public, never mind the discretion of the hotel staff or the multitude of potted ficus dotting the solarium. Suitably chastened, Eirtaé settled back into more standard roles of decorum; although she continued to send pointed looks in Padmé’s direction they were now paired with equally pointed looks at Sabé, as though reminded by her interruption that Padmé was not the only overworked public servant present.

“Well, I for one think a trip to the hot baths sounds lovely,” said Rabé, her words as clear and definitive a pivot in the conversation as the clink of her teacup returning to its saucer. “We are here to relax, after all, and they are what this resort is known for.”

* * *

Despite, or perhaps because, her already considerable career in public service, and the consequent travel around Naboo, Padmé had never had the opportunity to indulge in a visit to the thermal baths before. Yes, the capitol had numerous well-appointed spas which catered to the Nabooian elite, but, according to Eirtaé, whose family hailed from a spa town, nothing could truly compare to the experience of a fully appointed, historic thermal bath.

Padmé found she could not argue with her. From the changing rooms, where the girls stripped away all marks of rank and differentiation until they appeared no different than any other group of teenagers—shivering and wet from the shower, ready to enjoy a day of fun and relaxation—to the massage, which left her skin tingling from the salt scrub and her legs quivering from the release of tension, the experience was more pure enjoyment and relaxation than anything she could think of in recent memory.

As the party settled into yet another steam room, towels set carefully on hot benches to prevent burns, Sabé gave a long sigh of agreement. “This is lovely,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed since, oh, in years.”

“Hmm,” Rabé said, seeming to agree but unwilling to disturb the quiet of the space any more than it already had been.

“Since the invasion,” said Eirtaé. 

“Since the election at least,” said Yané.

Sabé hushed them with a glare, and their faces shuttered, contrite. 

Padmé smiled. “I don’t think I’ve been so relaxed since I joined the junior legislators,” she said, and the tension in the room dissipated back to steam.

Finally, the entrance to the thermal baths approached, arched doorways leading to the central pool—sunken in the floor, surrounded by columns, and topped by a high domed ceiling. The beauty of the scene was irrefutable, from the multicolored marble and mosaic inlay to the metal accents and railings polished to a glorious shine. But neither the architectural splendor nor the previous hours of pampering could distract the assembly of Naboo’s most highly trained bodyguards from the shift in environment. Whereas until now the party had only encountered one another as they passed through the various rooms and halls, or the thoroughly vetted resort staff, through the arched entry into the baths proper they could see the scattered forms of other guests.

Unconsciously forming into a defensive formation, the five handmaidens and one planetary monarch headed straight into the central rotunda, shoulders squared like they were on an official diplomatic visit, their plastic, resort-supplied sandals slapping loudly on the marble tiles. A few of the bathers turned to see what the noise was about, but most ignored them, floating or crawling lazily through the clear water, focused solely on their own relaxation.

The area was large enough that it would have fit in comfortably with the architectural styling of Theed Palace, and even with the late morning bath crowd sending a steady stream of bathers in and out of the pool, the royal party was able to find an area suitably distant from the other bathers for their own comfort.

The water was pleasantly warm as she stepped down the stairs into the pool, just bordering on too hot, and Padmé sighed in appreciation as the heat went to work on the multitude of aches and pains she hadn’t even noticed accumulating until the enforced relaxation of hot steam and skilled massages drew her attention through their attempts to relieve them. Submerged to her chin, the water lapping at the nape of her neck just catching the few stray hairs to escape the practical bun atop her head, she swam slowly towards the far edge of the pool, toes just brushing the tile squares at the bottom.

Fellow bathers sailed past at their own stately pace, the ethos of the place not conducive to speech or sound or eye contact, muted ripples marking the only sign of their passage. Like pleasure barges on a summer day they move slowly and with purpose, and with no particular destination in mind other than that directly in front of them.

As Padmé reached the far steps she could feel that the heat from the water had risen up her face and the cool air was a relief as she moved to sit on one of the upper steps. Looking back, she could see the others still sitting on the steps on the far side, apart from Sabé, who had moved to follow her and by now had almost caught up. They lounged together on the steps in companionable silence, half submerged in the hot, mineral-rich waters, watching the others across the pool.

Even as pleasant and therapeutic the water was, however, the heat eventually began to grate more than it soothed, and Padmé, her fingers and toes now thoroughly pruned, signaled to Sabé and began the trek back across to the others and their sandals, this time with more speed and purpose than her first crossing.

Reunited, still dripping, and—apart from Rabé, who appeared as unaffected and unflappable as ever—flushed the color of boiled crustaceans, the royal party faced the final test of wellness the Balbianello Health Resort and Spa had to offer. The pool in front of them was, in considerable contrast to the room of hot baths they had just left, not that large. Perhaps only two yards long and tiled in the same pale marble as the rest of the facility, the pool itself was not very intimidating to look at. It was also very, very cold.

Still, these were the queen and royal handmaidens of Naboo after all, and Padmé, undaunted, slipped off her sandals and plunged down the stairs into the frigid water. The temperature hit her hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs in a sharp gasp.

A few shrieks rose up behind her as the others followed her into the pool, though no one would ever admit to being the ones to uttered them. The cold was sharp and shocking, but ultimately another relaxant, if a forceful one. Padmé found herself enjoying the process as she made her way across the pool and up the far steps, the jolt of cold a swift reset after the lingering heat of the thermal baths.

Finally, dried, dressed, and directed to the suite of rooms reserved for their use, the royal party collapsed onto the variety of richly upholstered furniture scattered throughout the room. Pulling a thick, heavy throw up over her shoulders, and indulgently stretching her legs out on the sofa, toes still soft from the bath tracing the patterned swirls in the brocade, Padmé pulled up the long list of secured messages addressed to Amidala from Theed and sighed. 

Tucked away in the security of the suite, the handmaidens were laughing and joking, still calm and relaxed from the hours of pampering. Even Sabé and Rabé were all smiles, watching Yané’s comedic impression of one of the other bathers with fond amusement rather than aggravation or a lecture about decorum.

Padmé took another look at the list of messages. Right at the top sat a missive from her intelligence chief, just begging to be opened and analyzed and answered. She snuggled deeper into the blanket and turned away from the message list, setting it down on the table. It would still be there tomorrow. She smiled at Yané’s comically twisted look and asked Rabé to pass the room service menu. Maybe the hotel served more of those buns with lunch.

**Author's Note:**

> The Balbianello Health Resort and Spa is made up, but I based it on the hotels and thermal baths of Baden-Baden, Germany. I have never been, and am indebted to Rick Steves for his description of the experience.
> 
> The title is a line from the poem 'A Toast for Men Yun-Ch'ing' by Tu Fu.


End file.
